Inside Westminster: Tales of Hubris and Betrayal No 2
by mrsordinary54
Summary: 'Party Girl' is inspired by the shenanigans of the British political 'elite'.


INSIDE WESTMINSTER: TALES OF HUBRIS AND BETRAYAL

2

PARTY GIRL

Angelica Swinton-Eagle hadn't been able to sleep for weeks, in fact, years if the truth be known. It was Mandy, always Mandy. What had they done differently in their upbringing of Mandy compared to her other daughter? She lay wide-eyed, staring into nothing, wishing for oblivion.

'Oh, the shame of it,' she groaned. 'Camilla and her cronies are going to have a field-day.'

The papers lay on the floor by her bed. Geoffrey was still asleep, snoring, oblivious to her cares and concerns.

'She'll be alright, Angie,' Geoffrey had said after their nightcap the night before.

'Some nice chap will fall for our girl and then Mandy'll be fine.'

'Be fine, be fine!' screamed Angelica. 'Have you no idea what your little angel has been up to?' Are you totally blind as well as stupid?'

Geoffrey had slid behind the Times, burying himself in its crossword. He didn't want to know as he felt overwhelmed by his complete inability to fathom the female mind.

Having been brought up in an all-male environment-only brothers, boys boarding school, the army, followed by a brief stint in the City-and with a less than useless mother who had deserted the family in favour of 'finding herself', he had been entranced and mystified by the lovely Angelica. Daughters had brought charm and feminine laughter to his life for which he was grateful.

But Mandy? She'd turned out to be a vicious, manipulative brute of a person, selfish and uncaring in equal measure. Just to think of some of her antics brought him out in a sweat. So he did the only thing possible under the circumstances and he didn't think. He compartmentalised-aren't men supposed to be good at that?-and got on with life.

But at the back of his mind was the moment the terrible realisation broke of what exactly a 'party girl' was. Poor Angie had had to take Mandy to the local STI clinic and she was only 16.

'God almighty,' he thought. 'What on earth had gone wrong?'

Mandy was a one off.

'They broke the mould after her,' Angelica's father had once said. And he'd been right.

Selfish, cheeky, a born liar. Was there any saving grace? Only the fact that, as a child, she'd looked like an angel. That had slightly worn off as she'd grown; greed had led to a certain lardiness and Geoffrey had begun to inwardly despair of her ever finding a decent chap.

There had been a long series of unfortunate interviews in various school heads' offices. Some they'd been victors in, some not. Always they defended their daughter, though they knew she hadn't deserved their loyalty.

The memory of the poor games master asked quietly to leave after Mandy's accusations of his touching her, made Geoffrey tremble. It turned out later, through girlie gossip, that Mandy had sat cross-legged opposite him wearing lacy see-through knickers under her games skirt instead of the regulation PE pants. He'd resisted her adolescent advances, so Mandy had worked on getting him the chop.

Even aged 10 at prep school she had developed the ability to instil both shock and awe in fellow pupils and some naïve staff alike. Culminating in letting it be known that to belong to her posse of friends required drinking water from the toilet. A few poor gullible girls did exactly that.

The fallout led to the sacking of the housemistress; not one who had either been manipulated or was scared by this brat. A meeting was called with the Swinton-Eagles at which the parents were left in no doubt as to what was thought of their little darling. Her sacking ensued after a campaign of discrediting had taken place. Still Mandy was left unchecked and her sense of power grew.

In her armament, was the ability to fly into a rage or floods of tears at the drop of a hat and the cunning to sniff out a victim; you only needed one to crush mercilessly to terrify a whole cohort of people into submission. At a tender age, she'd also worked out which part of certain men's physiology was in control. And she'd mastered the art of taking over control of that herself.

And then she landed her dream job; working behind the scenes with the most powerful people in the country. True, strings had been pulled, favours called in by her parents who worked tirelessly to promote their daughter's interests-after all, the thought of having her on their hands indefinitely was truly terrifying.

Mandy had been careful to be sycophantic with the senior female politicians: 'you've got them where you want them,' 'girls on top!'. And such jolly hockey sticks stuff to win them over.

With the men, she selected carefully. She could tell those loyal to wives and left them well alone. She would work on the ones possessing a nefarious twinkle in the eye, the ones who sidled unpretentiously up to her to brush casually against her, or rested a reassuring hand on her arm, lingering just long enough to let her know that they were in tune with her game.

And how she had mastered the rules of that shameless game. After a look straight in the eyes of a potential shag, she would know by the length of his return glinting stare if he was 'up for it'. Off they'd go to some dark corner or alley way if unable to wait to satiate their mutual lust long enough to be at least comfortable on his or her sofa.

The expense of a hotel room was unnecessary.

Mandy sailed forth, totally unperturbed by the media storm, the tears of her mother and sister and the anger of the staff she'd let down.

'Life's a blast,' she thought. 'And I'm the one having all the fun.'

Potty really had no idea quite what he'd taken on.

He'd always found it hard to concentrate on anything boring, particularly Commons' briefs. And now, all he could think of was those fleshy orgasms.

He was trying to work on the latest brief about, what, some stupid female locked up in an Iranian prison.

'Where's the nearest loo?' he shouted. And off he rushed.


End file.
